When Maria left for work last Saturday, I thought I had an easy day ahead of myself.

Bridget had a friend over. They had plenty of activities planned. No one really needed me.

One of the activities was a kit to decorate gingerbread cookies. The cookies came pre-made with the kit so even I couldn’t screw this up.

Or so I thought.

I started to get the supplies ready while the girls played in Bridget’s room. As I removed everything from the box, I discovered one big problem.

The kit didn’t come with icing for the cookies. It did, however, come with a mix that allowed you to make icing for the cookies.

I immediately felt my blood pressure skyrocket. Make icing? By myself? Who did these people think I was? Didn’t anyone read the box before they left me alone with two children expecting to decorate cookies with icing?

After an initial moment of panic, I realized I had to give the thing a try. The instructions on the package sounded pretty simple. All I had to do was find an electric mixer of some sort to whip everything together.

I’m not a total idiot, but I had no clue where Maria kept the thing. I looked a few places, but couldn’t find the right tool. I considered calling her at work, but decided against it because I wanted to show off my self-sufficiency.

So I picked up the phone five minutes later when I obviously had no chance of making icing using the handheld mixer I found in one of our cupboards. I knew I had ruined everything.

She insisted I couldn’t screw up icing, but I had serious doubts about that. I insisted that my best chance of salvaging the project was to pile in the car with the girls and go buy some icing at the grocery store.

I found the right mixer – I never would have looked in the drawer below the silverware drawer – and went back to work. Maria told me I would be fine because I enjoyed cooking, but I reminded her that this recipe did not call for Buffalo wing sauce, which put me at a distinct disadvantage.

Even though Maria does do most of the cooking, I do enjoy making things all by myself. But I honestly don’t know how to bake. Unless you count those cookies that come ready to put in the oven as baking.

A few minutes later, I wondered why I worried about anything at all. The mixer magically turned the powdered sugar, some butter and a microscopic amount of milk into fluffy white icing.

I dipped my finger in the bowl. Surprisingly, it actually tasted like icing.

Since no one was around, I just went about my business and set up all the items the girls needed to decorate the cookies. I let them play a little while longer though because I wanted to clean up.

And I wanted to enjoy the icing left on the beaters in solitude. I didn’t go through all that work and worry to let the kids share in the best part of baking.